That's My Boy

After about the twentieth jump like this, John made a mistake and managed to cut himself up a fair amount. That was yesterday. Today he insisted on going back and doing it some more. How, exactly, am I going to helicopter parent or bubble-wrap this kid, when he has every bit of my instinct for doing stupid things and taking stupid risks? What are the chances I can get him to twenty-one with all of his bones and joints intact?

Maybe I shouldn't; it's the bad times that make us who we are.